Page 126

Lex points the transducer at him. “You’ve seen the inside of a brain.”

“And hell, that was just a rough hockey practice,” Pace says.

“Yeah.” Wicker blinks, forehead knitting up. “And?”

Incredulously, I surmise, “But the baby being born will be too gross for you?”

Reaching up to scratch his temple, Wick seems to give this a lot of thought before coming to a conclusion. “Well, I didn’t want to hold the brain, you know?”

It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, but weirdly, maybe also the sweetest. “Wick.”

He looks slightly aggrieved. “Yeah?”

“Come hold my hand, okay?”

Jolting forward to round the table, he releases a tense exhale, grabbing my hand. “Sure, yeah. Got it.”

Lex shakes his head before squirting the ultrasound goo onto my belly. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

The 4D ultrasound machine is enormous and looks overly complicated. There’s a whole panel of buttons, dials, and switches. Pace navigates them expertly somehow, guiding Lex when the transducer goes too low or too high.

“Stop!” Pace says. “Right there. Look, Rosi.”

I crane my neck to see the screen, awed at the image of our son’s face on the screen. “Wow,” I breathe through the tightness in my throat. He looks lumpy, but I can still make out all the details, from his round cheeks to his closed eyes. He looks like he’s sleeping, and maybe it’s the lumpiness, but I could swear there’s a little divot right between his eyebrows, almost like he’s?—

“He looks so annoyed.” Wicker shoots me a beaming grin that takes my breath away. “Maybe he’s Lex’s, eh?”

“Bro,” Pace gasps, pointing at the screen, “look at his hand. Is he…?”

I groan. “Oh my god. You can’t be serious.”

Justice’s hand is balled into a loose fist beneath his chin, but his middle finger is very clearly unfolded.

“He’s absolutely flipping us off,” Pace says.

Wicker’s smile widens. “Then again, maybe he’s Pace’s.”

When I hear nothing out of the third father, I glance at him, noticing how hard he’s staring at the screen. “Lex?”

Straightening, he explains, “Just checking for any abnormalities. Craniofacial, skeletal, or abdominal. It’d be difficult to catch dysmorphisms on standard?—”

“Lex.” I put my hand over his on the transducer, waiting until he meets my gaze to command. “Stop looking at the fetus. Look at our son.”

He stares at me for a long moment as it sinks in. He doesn’t mean to see the specimen instead of the person. There was a time I didn’t understand, but now I do. Lex needs us to pull him out of the lab jacket and into the moment.

And suddenly, he does.

Blinking, he turns to the screen, his grip on the probe going slack. “He’s—” Lex pauses, back expanding with a sharp inhale. “He’s perfect, Ver.”

Wicker and I created this baby with blood and passion. Pace and I forged him in the heat of wild possession. But Lex and I made him right here, with a longing so fierce that it transcended things like science or territory lines.

Smiling softly, I stroke my thumb over his. “Yeah, he is.”

“He has your nose,” Lex says, tilting his head to follow Justice’s curled angle. ”He looks comfortable in there, doesn’t he?”

There’s a tiny moment where I think how nice it would be for everything to stay like this. That maybe I can stay pregnant justa little longer, and we can bask in the peace and harmony we’ve created, but then I remember: we’re in Forsyth.

And nothing in Forsyth stays peaceful for long.